Losses and Gains
by Bill Hiers
Summary: Kit Cloudkicker's "friend" Ernie is a jerk. But nobody is a jerk for no reason. In this story I explore his character against the backdrop of his father remarrying, and a race to save the Jungle Aces' clubhouse.
1. Little Rascal

Ernest Lloyd Grapple, "Ernie" to his friends, shifted uneasily as he stood in the parlor of the Grapple family's home waiting for the nervous photographer to finish setting his camera up. The hyena boy's hair was gelled, neatly combed and parted to match that of his father, Herman Davis Grapple, who stood beside him, and both hyenas wore business suits.

Ernie's, though tailored exclusively for his small frame, made him feel uncomfortable. His father on the other hand looked right at home in his his with his pince-nez perched impeccably on the end of his snout. The elder Grapple stood impassively, like a statue, occasionally glancing at his eternally fidgeting son.

"Stop squirming," Herman said after a moment, quietly. If the photographer heard he didn't make it known.

"Dad," Ernie whined, "this suit itches!"

"Well if you would sit still it'll be over in a moment and then you can take it off," his father said, sounding exasperated.

"Why's that jerk takin' so long anyway?" Ernie wondered aloud, not caring if the photographer heard. He noticed that the man, a canine of fairly generic breed as far as Ernie could tell, was using an antique style camera mounted on a wooden tripod as opposed to the more modern ones he'd seen used by news photographers. His father, he knew, had insisted on this, and although Ernie knew why, he asked, just to be annoying. He excelled at annoying adults, he realized.

"It's for Miss Rockefeather," Herman said, his voice a little quieter. His usually stoic face twisted into the tiniest smile at the thought of his future wife. "I thought it would be nice if--"

"All right," said the photographer, interrupting, "it's all ready!"

Herman's small smile disappeared and he stood up ramrod straight like a man about to be executed by firing squad. Ernie mimicked him, but, just to be a tart, smiled just the slightest. The photographer glared at him, but took the picture anyway. Poof! Smoke filled the air which the photographer waved away. He began disassembling the camera as Herman walked over and began discussing the development of the picture, which, Ernie knew, would take quite some time. His father had explained the antique process to him.

Miss Rockefeather, or Laura Spelman Rockefeather, as the widow of the obscenely weathly John D. Rockefeather, whom Herman had met quite by accident at a party held at the Spruce Moose. The precise details of the meeting were unknown to Ernie beyond the fact that the actual restaurant no longer existed as such, but, apparently, it had been love at first sight. Since then Miss Rockefeather had been to the Grapple house many times for lunch and dinner, and the Grapples to the Rockefeather home as well, and, quite suddenly in the last month, Herman had proposed to her.

This threw Ernie for a loop. Miss Rockefeather was, to put it mildly, ancient. And yet his father doted on her as if she were a twentysomething broad from a Hollywood picture. He didn't quite understand it, but he was old enough to know that Herman was going to marry Miss Rockefeather, and that she would then become his stepmother, and, furthermore, that he had absolutely no say in the matter.

Ernie in the meantime immediately unbuttoned and removed his suit coat and threw it aside where it landed on a sofa. He began wrestling with his bowtie and grunted but couldn't seem to get it unknotted. Glancing over he saw his father sigh and then walking over after finishing with the photographer, Herman gently assisted his son in taking the tie off.

"I don't know why you have to be so uncooperative all the time," Herman mumbled.

"Hey, I sat still for the stupid picture, didn't I?" Ernie retorted.

Herman scowled. "But as usual you complain, complain, complain! Like it's so much to ask for you to be in a photograph for your future stepmother!"

He finished undoing the tie and Ernie took it off.

"There. Your torment is over for the day," Herman said. "Now run along and play or something, I have work to do."

With that, Herman turned and disappeared from the parlor, headed to his at-home office. Ernie gathered up the discarded tie and coat and took them to his bedroom which was filled with toys and comic books, mostly of the superhero Bullethead. A poster of the helmeted hero was plastered to the wall beside Ernie's bed.

Bullethead was Ernie's favorite comic book hero of all time. Being a fairly scrawny hyena with a portly hyena for a father, Ernie admired the muscular Bullethead and also liked the fact he lacked powers like most of the other comic book heroes. He fought evil with just his fists and his jetpack.

This was a product of Ernie's upbringing. He needed a strong father figure with which to identify, and, it seemed, Bullethead would do for the time being.

Ernest Grapple had been only five when his mother, Theresa Grapple, had died of typhoid fever. Ernie barely remembered her although he knew what she looked like. His father kept a framed portrait of her on the fireplace mantle. Herman Grapple had been forced to raise their only son alone. An arduous task for a single parent, especially one so heavily involved in work.

Herman's efforts to divide his time between his work and his son had been unsuccessful to say the least. The day-to-day runnings of Grapple Electric consumed most of Herman's time so that even when he was at home, he was in his office doing paperwork and making phone calls. Uninterested in business matters, Ernie found it difficult to look up to his father. Thus, he turned to comic books for people to idolize.

Ernie flung the tie and jacket onto his bed. Quickly he changed clothes, putting on his usual outfit of blue shirt with purple pants and suspenders. Then he grabbed his "gear," which to the untrained eye seemed to consist of mostly junk stuffed into a backpack, and ran out. He shoved past the photographer nearly knocking him down as he carried his camera tripod out to his car, and then jumped onto his bicycle.

If Herman ever knew where it was his son went all of the time he would've been furious. He and his friends had a clubhouse near the old airplane junkyard near the outskirts of inland Cape Suzette. It was an unfitting place for any child to play in, much less a Grapple, Herman had said. And the few times Ernie had invited his buddies back to the Grapple house, his father had ignored them completely.

He skidded his bike to a halt near the clearing where the clubhouse was, a large boxlike structure in a tree made of plywood and airplane and car parts.

Ernie liked to boast that he had designed it, but it had actually been Kit Cloudkicker. Kit's intimate knowledge of airplanes was one of the few reasons Ernie hung out with him. Kit, Ernie knew, was the friend his father would've approved of the least, being from an orphanage and all. The the kid's mechanical skills outweighed Ernie's own, and so the hyena kept him around. Even if he admittedly didn't like Bullethead.

None of the other Jungle Aces were here, it seemed. Dismounting, Ernie put his kickstand into place and wandered over to the base of the tree. Cupping his hands he called up.

"Skip? Orville? Humphrey? Kit?" Then after a moment of nervous uncertainty, he added, "Oscar?"

No answer. Amazing. Not even the over-eager Oscar Vandersnoot, possibly the one boy in the bunch Herman Grapple would've approved of his son having for a friend, was here! Where was everybody?

Shifting the weight of the backpack, Ernie kicked at the dirt and scowled. Oh well, he figured he would just wait for them in the treehouse.

He had just started to climb up when he heard a gruff voice say, "Hey, kid!"

Startled, Ernie turned to see who had spoken, losing his balance and falling hard on his butt. Shaking the dizziness away he watched as some burly men in yellow hardhats came running over. A dumptruck and bulldozer he hadn't noticed before sat parked behind them. Construction workers. Not an unusual sight. Numerous times, workers came by the junkyard to either deposit or collect scrap. Their motors weren't running, which was why Ernie had noticed them until just now.

"You okay, kid?" asked one of the men, helping him up by the arm.  
"I'm fine," Ernie grumbled, jerking his arm away.

"Sorry if we startled ya," said the worker. "But, uh, you gotta get outta here."

"Whaddaya mean?" Ernie said, defensive. "Can't you read?" He pointed up at a handpainted wooden sign nailed to the clubhouse that said Jungle Aces on it. "This tree is the property of the Jungle Aces!"

The workers exchanged bemused looks. "Another one," said the second worker.

The third, and biggest, worker, who appeared to be the foreman, put his hands on his hips and glared down at Ernie. "Look, kid, I think it's you who can't read! C'mere."

They took Ernie over to where a large sign had been obscured by the parked bulldozer. It identified the empty lot as now belonging to the Miniversal Corporation.

"What?" Ernie gasped.

"Yeah, sorry, kid," said the first worker. "But you an' your little pals're gonna hafta build yer little clubhouse someplace else."

The foreman was not at all sympathetic. He glowered angrily. Apparently, Kit and the others had resisted being ejected. "And that means you've got to vamoose, like right now! This whole place is gonna be the site for the new Miniversal Industrial Park! Now get!" He jerked his thumb at the nearby road.

Ernie blinked. His lack of knowledge in economics made him question the sanity of tearing down a scrapyard to build an office building. But nevermind that! These jerks were gonna tear down his tree! He tried to protest but was ushered roughly by the other two workers over to where his bike was. They watched as he got on and made sure he actually was pedaling off down the road before turning and walking back over to their vehicles.

Ernie watched them go over his shoulder, passing a flatbed truck carrying a shovel loader as he went. Jerks. Well, he wasn't going to let them tear his clubhouse down! Pedaling faster he headed into Cape Suzette, intent on hitting the malt shop to find Kit and the others. Together they would stop those construction workers. Nobody messed with Ernie Grapple!

To Be Continued ... 


	2. Bullethead Dynamo Plunge!

Ernie burst into the malt shop, throwing the door open with a loud jingle that made Frank the soda jerk glare at him but say nothing. The place was utterly deserted. Ernie frowned, feeling somewhat worried and more than a little annoyed. Aside from the empty lot, Frank's malt shop was one of the two main places that the Jungle Aces met. Making a big show of stomping his feet, Ernie marched up to the counter and peered up at Frank with slitted eyes. The soda jerk crossed his arms and glared right back.

"If you're lookin' for Kit and the rest, they left about an hour ago," he said.

"Where'd they go?" Ernie asked.

"Heck if I know," Frank replied with an indifferent shrug.

Without a word, Ernie spun and ran back out to where he'd left his bike. He looked right, then left, up and down the street for any sign of his friends. He saw nothing but grown-ups going about their boring daily routines.

Where had they gone? Back to the lot? He had visions in his head of them throwing rocks at the Miniversal construction workers, which was amusing, but improbable. Kit was too levelheaded for something like that. And with him being the Jungle Aces' second-in-command, this meant Kit was in charge in Ernie's absence, which also meant the other boys weren't going to be making any real effort to stop the destruction of the clubhouse anytime soon.

This angered Ernie. Occasionally, he appreciated Kit's caution, but not at a time like this! Not when the Jungle Aces' lair was in danger of being bulldozed to the ground! A situation as dire as this called for action!

"What would Bullethead do?" Ernie wondered alloud.

Shrugging his backpack off, Ernie plunked the heavy load down on the sidewalk and unzipped it. He began removing the different items that made up his Bullethead costume. All salvaged from the junkyard, since, much to Ernie's eternal dismay, no stores sold any official Bullethead costumes for children. A few adults actually stopped to watch the young hyena unpacking and putting the various crude implements on with varying levels of amusement and confusion.

Whereas Kit had been the biggest influence in designing the clubhouse, Ernie could truly boast that he and he alone had come up with what passed for a Bullethead costume. A ceramic jug tied to his back passed for the hero's jetpack, and where the straps crisscrossed the boy's chest, he had attached an alarm clock to simulate the jetpack's controls. Large red oven mitts, intended for adults, were pulled onto his hands, giving him a comical appearance whenever he made fists with them. And finally, the helmet.

The helmet had once been a large plastic funnel, big enough to cover a child's entire head, but Ernie had cut a big square hole in it for his face (particularly his snout) to stick through so he could see. He knew that in the comics, Bullethead's actual helmet hid his face, but early attempts at a funnel with just eyeholes had proved disastrous due to Ernie being unable to cram his muzzle up inside the thing. So an open-faced, though inaccurate, helmet was what Ernie was forced to make due with.

He placed it upon his own head with as much reverence as one would a king's crown. And in a way, it was. Except for Kit, the other Jungle Aces all looked up to Ernie as he was the oldest of them all, and in their eyes he looked quite dashing in his "Bullethead" costume.

The outfit complete, Ernie stuffed the empty backpack into the front basket of his bicycle. Noticing the staring adults, Ernie, who relished being the center of attention and had a flare for the dramatic, pinted skyward with one finger and declared loudly, "Fear not, citizens of Cape Suzette! I, Bullethead, will stop the evil Miniversal Corporation and save the Jungle Aces clubhouse!"

The adults' reactions ranged from, "That kid's nuts!" to "What a sweet little boy!"

Whirling, Ernie jumped onto his bike. "Skyward, ho!" he declared, and then pedaled madly off in the direction of Higher for Hire, which was the likeliest place he would find Kit. When not at the clubhouse or the malt shoo, or school, Kit could usually be found hanging around that fat cargo pilot Baloo and the dopey Miss Cunningham with her whiny daughter, Molly, whom Kit had actually once tried to persuade Ernie to let into the club!

As the boy rode off, one adult in particular watched him go. "Five-Spot" Freddy, a twitchy lizard, had a reputation as a street informant, assisting cops and criminals alike in information gathering. Unfortunately for everyone concerned, he tended to misunderstand, leap to conclusions, or outright lie in order to earn the five shaboozies that was his usual going rate, and the origin of his nickname.

"Bullethead's gonna stop Miniversal?!" he cried. Whirling he charged to the nearest payphone. "I gotta tell Mr. Sultan!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In his office at the Miniversal Corporation headquarters, Robert Sultan, a short, middle-aged but still tough tiger, sat at his desk. His assistant Lucas, a balding lion with an icy stare that could chill Jell-O, answered the phone when it rang.

"Mr. Sultan's office," he said. After a moment, he thrust the receiver at Sultan. "It's for you, sir. It's that annoying Five-Spot Freddy."

Sultan accepted the phone and brought it to his ear. "Sultan," he said indifferently. "Whaddaya got for me, Five-Spot?" He paused. "What? What in the world are you talking about? .... Are you insane?! No, I wouldn't give you a nickel for that kinda crap! Call me back when you've got some real information!"

He angrily slammed the receiver back down into its cradle, making Lucas jump. "I take it he was on one of his usual tirades?"

"He was harping on about how some kid said Bullethead was gonna stop Miniversal from developing that old airplane scrapyard," Sultan said.

"What's a Bullethead?" Lucas asked.

"How should I know," Sultan said. "Sounds like some dumb comic book character. Boy, Five-Spot's really gone off the deep end this time." He twiddled his fingers in thought. "Nevertheless... one can't be too careful. For all we know, Bullethead's some heater from outta town."

Lucas looked worried. "You think Khan knows what we're really after? He has to if he's bringing in heaters!"

"We don't even know if Khan is the one who hired this joker. Find that kid, Lucas. Find out who Bullethead is, and fast! I will not lose my one chance to finally one-up Khan! Nothing must stand in the way of Miniversal's rise to the top!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he'd anticipated, Ernie found Kit at Higher for Hire, along with, to his relief, the other four boys. They were all without their official Jungle Aces headgear. Ordinarily the members all wore pots or colanders on their heads.

Kit, Orville the ostrich and Skip the rabbit were sitting on the end of the pier, legs dangling off, rods in their hands, fishing. Nearby Oscar Vandersnoot was blowing his nose, and Humphrey the hippo sat reading a comic book. Dynamo Action Squad, instead of Bullethead, to Ernie's dismay. The boys' bikes were parked nearby. There was no sign of Baloo. Good, thought Ernie. He didn't like Baloo much anyway.

They all looked up as Ernie's bike approached. Stopping it, he got off and without bothering with the kickstand, ran over, allowing the bike to topple noisily on its side.

"Wow, Ernie, you sure look upset!" observed Oscar, neatly tucking his handkerchief into his shirt pocket.

"Guess you went by the clubhouse, huh?" added Kit. He looked resigned to defeat, just as Ernie had feared he would.

"Yes I did! And yeah, I am upset!" Ernie growled. "What are you jerks doin' standin' around acting like a buncha pansies while those guys are gonna tear our clubhouse down?"

Sighing, Kit set his fishing rod aside and stood, turning towards his friend. The young bear's voice was filled with infinite patience for Ernie's impulsive and selfish nature. Not that Ernie ever took enough notice to appreciate it. "Ernie, I hate to break it to ya, but Miniversal bought that land fair and square. Nobody owned it before."

"We did!" Ernie declared, jumping up and down.

"Yeah!" added the other boys, except Oscar, in unison. Ernie smiled. Now that he had returned, he was officially in charge again and the gang was firmly behind his back. Even Oscar would go along with whatever plan he cooked up, though not as enthusiastically as the others. Kit was the only fly in the oinment, as usual.

"Not legally!" Kit said, gesturing. He tried to think of the quickest and simplest way to explain this to Ernie. Finally he hit upon an idea. "We don't have the deed to the lot. Nothing that says the place is actually ours--"

"Then we'll go get one!" insisted Ernie.

"Yeah!" the others joined in.

There was a pause. Kit sighed and palmed his face, aghast that his efforts to dissuade Ernie were only encouraging him even more. The other boys, for their part, just looked at one another in confusion. Finally...

"So...where do we even GET a deed?" asked Orville.

It was Oscar who stepped forwards, adjusting his large, thick glasses. "We could try the Cape Suzette District Attorney's Office. That's where my dad works."

"Your dad's a lawyer?" asked Skip.

"No," said Oscar, "he's a judge."

Kit grabbed Oscar's arm and whispered, "Oscar! Don't encourage him!"

"Nevermind that, yeah, what Oscar said! Come on! To the--uh, the place--uh, whatever it is that Oscar said!"

"The District Attorney," Oscar clarified, seemingly ignoring Kit.

"Right!" Ernie held up a finger dramatically. "Jungle Aces...move out!"

They all charged towards their bicycles and got on them. Skip rode a large tricycle, whilst Humphrey and Orville shared a two-seater bike and Oscar rode a regular two-wheeler with large training wheels attached. As Ernie waved his friends forth on what he envisioned to be an epic quest, the Jungle Aces tore off with him in the lead and Oscar a slow last.

Kit sighed, shoulders slumping. Why did Ernie have to always learn things the hard way? Deciding he may as well go along just to provide the usual voice of reason, he took his own bike and got on, pedaling after the others to catch up.

As he did, a sleek black sedan pulled around the corner and braked. Inside, Lucas sat in the passenger seat, watching the kids leave. "Five-Spot said it's the kid in the lead. Come on, let's follow them."

His driver, a wiry panther with glasses named Gobler, nodded and stepped on the gas, the sedan driving off in pursuit of the kids. Soon, the vehicle was gaining on the kids. Bringing up the rear as he was, Kit was the first to notice it, because he heard its engine. At the same time, Oscar also noticed it because he saw it in the sideview mirror attached to his bike's left handlebar. They both looked back at the same time.

"Oh no!" cried Oscar.

"Ernie, we got trouble!" cried Kit, drawing the other boys' attention.

One by one they turned their heads and looked back. Ernie gasped. "Pedal faster you guys!"

"Ernie, are you crazy, we can't outrun a car!" whined Skip.

"Sure we can!" Ernie said jubiliantly. He pointed.

Although it was slow going with the sedan right behind them, the bikes were going uphill and nearing the crest. Just as Lucas was telling his driver to pull around the other kids to reach the lead boy, the six bikes crested the hill and shot down it.

At the bottom was a T-shaped intersection. Ernie whooped in delight as he felt the wind in his face, shooting downwards faster and faster. Behind him the other boys were reacting with a mixture of terror and delight themselves. Oscar, no longer the wet blanket he used to be, was yelling the loudest of all with a huge smile on his face.

Only Kit seemed truly worried, constantly glancing back as Lucas' car flew over the top of the hill and came barrelling down towards them.

Ernie waved to get the other boys' attention. "When I give the signal, you guys, turn right!"

"No!" cried Oscar. "It's left!"

"Left!" Ernie corrected himself. "Left, then!"

As Ernie's bike reached the bottom, he swung his handlebars to the side and his bike shot like a bullet around the corner and to the left. Skip, Humphrey, Orville and Oscar followed right behind him in the order. Kit actually felt the bumper of the car touch his bike's back wheel as he made the turn.

The much larger sedan wasn't as lucky. Gobler yelled and spun the wheel, but lost control. He and Lucas screamed as their vehicle rammed into a sign post, crumpling the front end.

"The Bullethead Dynamo Plunge strikes again!" Ernie cried, taking his hands off the bars and waving them triumphantly in the air.

The others cheered, and even Kit smiled a bit, but his smile faded as he looked back at the two men getting out of the crashed car and yelling at them. As usual, it seemed, Ernie was going to get all of them in a great deal of trouble. Far more trouble than they could handle.

To Be Continued .... 


	3. Judge Vandersnoot

"Oh, really, Herman, you shouldn't have!" Miss Rockefeather said as she examined the black and white photograph of Herman and Ernie taken with the antique camera.

They were in the sitting room at the Rockefeather estate, and Herman had just gotten done handing his fiancee the framed photo and now he went to the wet bar to get a bottle of champagne. He watched in calm satisfaction as Miss Rockefeather placed the photo upon her coffee table beside similar-looking ones of her late husband as well as her long gone parents.

"Well, my little cupcake, I decided that an ordinary photograph simply wouldn't do," Herman replied as he poured himself and Miss Rockefeather a glass of champagne each. Giving one to her, he added, "I figured it was perfect for your....vintage." He gave one of his characteristic little chuckles, realizing about two seconds too late what he was implying.

Miss Rockefeather glared at him. "My vintage...?"

"Uh, well, what I meant, my peach, is that, uh, you're like...a very fine aged wine," Herman stammered nervously.

This seemed to satisfy her. Somewhat. Her smile was a knowing one. "You've got a loose tongue, Herman Grapple. But I'll be, you certainly are good at making up for your mistakes." She sipped her champagne.

Herman sighed in relief. It was true that he was a social blunderer. Despite his affluent accent, a result of language classes taken as a college student, he was a self-made millionaire and a bit rough around the edges as a result, although he nonetheless fit right in with other socialites. To his consternation, none of this had rubbed off on Ernie who seemed determined to act like a bowery boy. Herman, several times, entertained the thought of shipping his son off to military school.

"By the way, where is that darling son of yours?" Miss Rockefeather asked.

"Oh, uh, out," Herman said, being deliberately vague because he suddenly realized he had no clue where on Earth his son could be. "Ernest often goes out to play with his friends. A rough and tumble bunch, the lot of them. Especially that Cloudkicker."

"Well," said Miss Rockefeather, rising, "I'm throwing a dinner party tonight in honor of our engagement."

"I see, and, of course, you want Ernest to come along?"

She nodded.

Herman drank his champagne in one gulp. "That's going to be a bit difficult. For you, my darling cranberry pie, I would fight wars singlehanded...but persuading Ernest to do anything is much harder. You don't know what I had to go through to get him to do something as simple as that." He pointed at the photograph, scowling as he suddenly noticed Ernie's smirk in it.

"Well, at least try," Miss Rockefeather said, putting a feathered hand upon the shorter hyena's shoulder. "That's all I ask. I don't entertain any thoughts of getting him to call me mommy anytime soon, but...well, I just want him to be there."

Herman nodded and kissed her on the cheek. "I promise I will do everything in my power, darling."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, Kit Cloudkicker pedaled a little faster to stay next to Ernie as the Jungle Aces travelled downtown on their bikes. The D.A.'s office had been a washout. Judge Vandersnoot was at court, so despite all of Kit's attempts to dissuade them the Jungle Aces were now on their way to the city courthouse. And ever since tricking the black sedan into crashing, Ernie wouldn't shut up about his "victory."

In hindsight, Kit wondered if those guys had even been villains at all. They certainly seemed intent on following the Jungle Aces and the driver had, after all, hit his back wheel with his bumper, as though trying to force him off the road, but, still, Kit didn't like jumping to conclusions. For all they knew they'd just caused two perfectly innocent men to wreck. At least he knew the men were okay, judging by all the yelling they'd done upon exiting the vehicle.

Ernie on the other hand was positively celebrating though, and as they skidded their bikes to a halt in front of the city courthouse, he leapt off and landed dramatically on his feet and made a show of flexing his scrawny arms as the other boys, including Oscar, gathered around him and cheered him on, although Oscar with a little less enthusiasm than the others, Kit noticed. Kit was last of all to get off his bike and walk over.

Noting his friend's conflicted look, Ernie said, "Why the long face, Kit? C'mon, the almighty Bullethead just thwarted those evildoers! They'll think twice before messing with the Jungle Aces again, huh?"

"Yeah!" said Skip, Orville and Humphrey.

"But you're not Bullethead, Ernie," Oscar pointed out uncertainly.

"Oh shut it, geek," Ernie grumbled, jabbing Oscar in the chest with a padded finger. "Now, where's your dad work?"

Oscar sighed and led the way up the courthouse steps. Ernie followed, with Skip, Orville and Humphrey right at his heels. Kit held up a finger and called after them but they ignored him. With a sigh he trotted up after them. The six of them burst noisily into the main lobby attracting the attention of dozens adults who turned and looked at the noisy children, particularly Ernie in his ridiculous "Bullethead" costume.

It was to the front desk that they went. The receptionist, a walrus in a security guard's uniform, was reading a newspaper and didn't notice them despite their noisy entrance, until Ernie reached up and banged a mitten-clad fist on the desktop. The receptionist looked up, seeing no one.

"Huh?" he said, blinking.

"Down here," said Ernie. The receptionist looked down and Ernie gave his very best winning smile and waved.

"Uh, can I help you...?"

"We're here to see my dad," Oscar said.

"Oh, hi Oscar," the receptionist said. Apparently Judge Vandersnoot brought his son to work more than once. "I'm sorry, but your father is currently in chambers."

"What's that mean?" asked Skip.

"It means he's in his office thinking part of a case over," explained Oscar.

"Then he's not in court?" Ernie asked, demanding clarification. When Oscar nodded, Ernie grinned. "Good! Then he ain't busy!" With that he turned and charged off with everyone but Oscar and Kit trailing after him.

"Ernie, no!" Kit yelled. "You can't just walk into a judge's office when he's in the middle of work! Besides, you don't know where Judge Vandersnoot's office even is!"

Ernie skidded to a halt. Skip, Orville and Humphrey all crashed into him in a domino effect which, Kit had to admit, was pretty funny. Ernie whirled, glaring, just as the receptionist rose and grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to some chairs.

"Your pal's right," he said, effortlessly lifting Ernie and planting him on the chair. "So yer gonna wait here until the Judge is through."

"But--" Ernie began.

"No buts!" grumbled the receptionist. "If you like I can have a message sent to him, but regardless, you're gonna have to wait!" He turned and pointed at the other three boys who had remained where they stood. "You too. Come on. Butts parked right here. Now."

Heads hung low they walked over and took their seats to either side of Ernie. Oscar and Kit also trundled over and sat, until they took up six of the twelve available waiting seats. The receptionist then returned to his desk and sat. Then, satisfied that all of the boys were in his line of sight, he returned to reading his newspaper.

Kit crossed his arms, wondering what they were even doing here. Miniversal owned the lot now, fair and square. They couldn't just magically make a judge, even Oscar's father, create a deed giving the Jungle Aces sole ownership of the land. Kit was of the mind that they should just find a new place to build a clubhouse. The first one had taken a few months, but had been easy enough.

Also, what little he knew of the Miniversal Corporation told him that they were far more ruthless than Shere Khan could ever hope to be. Its owner lacked what few scruples and sense of honor Khan possessed. And if those were Miniversal goons in that car, then that meant they had deliberately been trying to run them down after all. From all angles, Miniversal was clearly not a group Kit was interested in messing around with.

But Ernie didn't want to hear any of that. Obviously the root of the problem was the fact Ernie didn't hear the word "no" a lot, at least not from anyone who could actually make him do anything. A product of his neglectful and rich father. On top of that, Ernie's obsession with Bullethead had given him a bizarre sense of entitlement and a desire to stand up against wrongs, both real and imagined, to say nothing of a very simplistic worldview. If you weren't on his side, you were one of the bad guys.

Kit could get nowhere with Ernie if he was grouped amongst the bad guys, which was why he had accompanied them despite all of his attempts to talk them out of it. Well, that, and, if he didn't, he knew Ernie would get himself hurt. And with Ernie being the one making the noisy but clumsy efforts to thwart Miniversal, Kit knew in his heart that it hadn't been Kit Cloudkicker those guys in the car had been chasing.

The minutes ticked by. Ernie grew increasingly more and more impatient. "Oh, man, this is so stupid," he whined, albeit in a whisper. "We're losin' time! Those guys could be tearin' the treehouse down right this second, and we're stuck here waitin' all 'cause Tubby McFatbutt over there wants to play security guard."

"He IS a security guard, Ernie," Oscar whispered.

"Shut up!" Ernie hissed. Slowly, he slid out of his seat. This movement went unnoticed by the receptionist. "He's too busy reading," Ernie observed. He gestured to his friends. "Come on, we can sneak past 'im right now if we hurry!"

"Ernie..." Kit whispered sternly, wondering why in the world he always had to be the grown-up about everything.

Ernie had an entirely different opinion of Kit's maturity. "Oh quit bein' such a baby and come on!" Ernie hissed.

With that, he ducked low and snuck past the unsuspecting receptionist who was still engrossed in his paper. Skip, Orville, Oscar and Humphrey followed suit as quietly as possible. This left only Kit. Suddenly, Kit didn't want to be the only one sitting there when the receptionist finally looked up and noticed that they'd gone. So, with great haste, he got up and snuck past the desk and went off in the same direction the others had gone.

Once they were safely past the sentry, Ernie led the group to the nearest elevator and asked Oscar, "Okay, which floor's your dad's office?"

"Uh, the third, I think," Oscar replied. He pushed the call button.

A moment later the elevator dinged open and several well-dressed attorneys filed out, seeming to take no notice of the children, who quickly boarded. Once the last one was aboard, Oscar hit the button for the third floor, while Ernie made a crack about Humphrey exceeding the weight limit. They rode up and got off on the third floor which seemed mostly deserted. Oscar led the way now, to an oak wood door that read "James Vandersnoot" on it. Tentatively, he knocked.

"Come in," was the answer.

They went inside, entering a plush, neatly furnished office. Judge Vandersnoot was at his desk. He looked up in surprise to see his son and five other boys he didn't know coming in. To Kit and Ernie's amazement, the Judge was a carbon copy of his son. Or rather, Oscar was a copy of his father. Judge Vandersnoot had the exact same hairstyle and style of glasses that his son wore. He was just an adult version of Oscar. Kit even half-expected him to have the same nasally voice as Oscar, but, when he spoke, he was actually quite deep-voiced.

"Oscar? What are you doing here?" the Judge asked. "Your mother must be worried sick about you!"

"Hi, Dad," Oscar said shyly. "These are my friends. Uh, we--we came to see you about something."

"Oh?" Judge Vandersnoot closed the casebook he'd been writing in and looked down at them.

Ernie stepped to the head of the group. Cordially, he removed the funnel-helmet he wore, and tucked it under one arm. Very politely, he introduced himself as "Ernest Grapple" and explained their situation. Kit was more than a little amused by Ernie's manner with Oscar's father. Clearly, the hyena boy did not want to do anything to jeopordize their one chance at getting the clubhouse back, however remote. He also noticed, for the first time, that Ernie's hair was gelled and styled quite neatly. That was unusual. His father had made him do it, no doubt.

The more Ernie went on, the more annoyed and skeptical Judge Vandersnoot looked. Finally, he said, "Well, I'm sorry to tell you this, Ernest, but it sounds to me like Miniversal owns the land."

"I told you," said Kit.

Ernie's manner changed instantly. "Well, big help you are! I thought judges had all kinds of power to do all sorts of stuff!"

Judge Vandersnoot raised one eyebrow. "Well, you thought wrong. Now, kindly leave my office."

Ernie looked close to exploding, so Kit decided it was time to try and salvage the situation. To the Judge, he said, "Sir, aren't we just ASSUMING they own it? There's got to be some kind of paperwork or something that says whether or not they actually bought it." Judge Vandersnoot fumed and stood, but as he opened his mouth, Kit quickly added, "Please, sir. We've had a really rough day...and if we're gonna lose our clubhouse we'd at least like it in writing, once and for all, that we can't do anything."

"Oh, all right," the Judge said finally. "Wait right here. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, he left his office.

"Boy, he looked mad!" Oscar said uneasily. He frowned and punched Ernie in the arm. "And he doesn't get mad easy, either! You sure got under his skin!"

"Ow!" Ernie yelped, and punched Oscar back. The smaller bear returned the gesture. Ernie dropped his helmet and soon he and Oscar were slapping and shoving one another until Kit stepped between them and shoved the apart.

"Cut it out!" he said with all the authority he could muster. "Both of you! We're here aren't we? We're gonna find out what we wanna know, right? So quit acting like a couple of retards and start thinking positive!"

They nodded. Oscar scowled and adjusted his glasses, wandering off to another part of the office. Skip, Orville and Humphrey began pulling out and examining books off of Judge Vandersnoot's bookshelf in the meantime. As Ernie bent down and picked up his funnel-helmet, Kit slapped him on the back.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Ernie replied after a moment. Then, with what must have been all of the courage he could muster, he added, "Thanks. For gettin' the Judge to go and check that stuff."

Kit nodded and smiled. "Nice hair, by the way."

Ernie, realizing his hair was still styled from the photo shoot earlier, grumbled and put his helmet back on. "Oh, shut it," he grumbled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across town, Gobler had the hood on the car popped and was examining the engine, from which smoke and steam belched. The radiator was busted but otherwise it seemed to be okay. Nearby, Lucas was on the payphone with Mr. Sultan, explaining the car crash.

"Those nasty little brats tricked us into driving right into a signpost!" he growled.

"All I care about is whether the darn thing is still drivable!" Sultan snarled. "Because if you don't find that kid, and get him to tell you where this Bullethead guy is, and I mean today, then you might as well not bother coming back!"

Lucas winced. He turned and looked towards the car. Most of the steam was gone and Gobler slammed the hood back down. Lucas said into the phone, "I'm unsure 'drivable' is the proper term, but it'll go, Mr. Sultan."

"Good," Sultan said, sounding slightly less angry. "Now get back on it and don't call me again unless you have good news. I've got to swing down by the lot and tell that Tennison the proper way to set up an oil pump."

The line abruptly went dead. Hanging up, Lucas exited the phonebooth and walked to the car. "Will it drive? Please tell me I didn't just lie to Mr. Sultan."

"It'll drive," said Gobler, "I just can't say how far and for how long. The radiator's toast."

"Well, come on, those brats couldn't have gotten too far on their bicycles!" grumbled Lucas.

They got into the car and started it up. It groaned noisily as Gobler backed it up, and grinded as he turned and started off down the road, in the direction the children had gone.

The noises emanating from the engine worried and angered Lucas, who hissed, "Remind me to make that little brat pay for what he did to my car!"

To Be Continued ... 


	4. Further Complications

Ernie was bordering on losing his temper awaiting the return of Judge Vandersnoot, and actually in the process of opening his mouth to complain, when the office door opened and the Jedge entered holding a manilla envelope.

"Finally," Ernie grumbled. "Where'd you go for that thing? Thembria?"

Judge Vandersnoot frowned and sat behind his desk, placing the folder before him and opening it. "Well, I hate to disappoint you boys, but this deed confirms what young Cloudkicker here already said. Namely, that the lot at the airplane scrapyard belongs to the Miniversal Corporation."

"What?!" cried Ernie, looking distraught, planting his mittened hands on his cheeks in distress.

The Judge nodded. "I'm afraid so. However, there's a clause here. It says that if Miniversal couldn't produce by midnight tonight, then the land rights revert to the public domain."

"Produce what?" Kit asked, walking over.

Judge Vandersnoot blinked. He hadn't been looking at the document as he explained it to the kids, but now he glanced down at it, frowning. "Oil," he said. "Huh. That certainly is weird."

Without another word, Ernie whirled on his heel and stormed out. As he went, he felt his rage and helplessness beginning to come a boil. He was going to show those Miniversal creeps just who they were messing with. Nobody took his clubhouse away.

"Thanks, Judge," Kit said apologetically, then turned and hurried after Ernie. Everyone but Oscar, who remained to talk with his father, followed. "Ernie!" he called after his friend.

Ernie ignored him and took the stairs, rather than the elevator, clomping down in anger. Kit and the others clambered down after him in a hurry but it wasn't until they actually exited out into the lobby that Kit finally caught up to Ernie and grabbed the hyena's arm.

"Ernie, hold up," Kit said.

"Let go!" Ernie demanded, tugging. Kit kept his grip preventing him from jerking away.

The struggle attracted the attention of the guard at the reception desk who turned in time to see Oscar emerging from the stairwell after Skip. It quickly dawned on him what happened. He threw a cursory glance at the empty waiting seats before leaping to his feet and starting towards them. At that exact moment, a lion and a panther wearing business suits entered the lobby and headed towards the front desk. They stopped, following the guard with their eyes. It was Lucas who spotted the kids first.

"Don't look now but here comes Tubby McFatButt!" yelped Orville, pointing.

"That's them!" Gobler said, rather needlessly. Immediately he and Lucas charged towards the kids.

Kit released Ernie who charged forwards, ducking under the guard's swinging arms. The guard spun to pursue him but the other Jungle Aces surged forwards and the guard was knocked off his feet by the five of them. As he passed the stunned walrus, Oscar sheepishly looked down and apologized to him.

Ernie, mostly unintentionally, took care of the other two obstacles. In he rage he charged headlong at Lucas and Gobler who both dove for him at once, but overestimated their own height versus his. Their heads collided with a hollow clunking noise and both felines cried out, "Ugh!" and fell over backwards. Gobler's glasses flew off. Before either of them could get up the Jungle Aces charged over them and trampled them, all save Kit, who was kind enough to leap over their prone forms rather than step on them.

Oscar promptly tripped on Lucas' stretched-out leg and fell flat on his stomach, his glasses falling off and skittering across the floor. Hearing the two men getting up, and Kit and the others yelling for him to look out, he scrabbled for the first pair of glasses he could find and put them on. Deciding the blurriness was due to his dizziness at having fallen he gave it no second thoughts and ran after his companions. Gobler, in turn, snatched up the pair of glasses closest to him as an enraged Lucss grabbed him by his suit collar and hauled him along in pursuit of the kids.

Ernie led the way plowing through the crowd of lawyers and their clients coming and going, briefcases clattering noisily to the floor, papers flying everywhere, the sound of yelling and scuffing shoes filling the lobby. The small crowd parted like the Red Sea for the Jungle Aces to race through and out the front door, Lucas and a somewhat slower Gobler right behind. Their pursuit was halted when Gobler ran unthinkingly face-first into the doorframe rather than through the door, forcing Lucas to turn and help him up.

"To the bikes!" Ernie cried out dramatically, pointing, and he scurried down the front steps, Kit and the others at his heels.

Oscar tripped and fell knocking Skip, Humphrey and Kit down like bowling pins. Only Orville managed to leap aside in time. Ernie was already well and clear and making a beeline for the bikes Kit recovered first, picking up his baseball cap and wincing as he stood, his knee skinned. He then assisted Orville in helping the other two boys stand. Skip was okay, just mildly dazed, and Humphrey barely felt a thing, but Oscar was positively distress.

"I can't see!" he cried, squinting.

"These aren't your glasses!" Kit said, realizing Oscar was wearing a pair of expensive-looking spectacles with gold rims instead of his usual black-framed thick ones.

Even as he was wondering where that pair was they appeared at the top of the steps on the face of one of the two men from the car from earlier. Kit briefly entertained the idea of calling a truce to swap the glasses but decided the men looked too angry for that, and so with Orville's help he guided Oscar to the bikes where Ernie was waiting impatiently and yelling at them to move it. Kit was surprised Ernie had'nt fled and left them. He was really taking his role as the Jungle Aces leader seriously today.

Because Oscar could barely see, he was planted on the backseat of the two-seater bike with Orville while Humphrey took the bear's bike with training wheels. In this fashion the six boys franatically pedalled away from the courthose just as Lucas and Gobler reached the bottom of the steps and ran for their black sedan.

With Gobler at the wheel the motor roared to life and the sedan peeled away from the curb to follow the children...and Gobler, squinting behind Oscar's glasses, promptly drove himself and Lucas right into a hot dog stand and then through a shop window.

Looking back, Kit could barely believe their luck. He actually laughed. But he had no illusions that their good luck would continue. If those guys had been pissed before they'd be really angry the next time they encountered them. It was never wise to court disaster. So he knew that once they reached a good stopping point nearby he would put his foot down and tell Ernie to call the whole crusade off before someone really did get hurt, or worse.

That stopping point turned out to be outside of the malt shop. After getting off their bikes, the boys conferred with Ernie who was still insisting they head to the lot.

"We have to get to the clubhouse, we've got to hold off those Miniversal guys until--"

"No, Ernie!" Kit said firmly. "We just can't do it! We barely got away from just two of them two times as it is! What do you think you can do again a whole mob of them?"

Ernie looked uncertain, afraid and angry all at the same time. So much had gone wrong in such a short timespan. He'd left the house to get away from problems, not to deal with more of them! And at every turn it was becoming more and more difficult to get anything done. So worked up was he with rage and despair over the whole situation that his response to Kit's question was to ball up his fists and shrilly cry, "Head of steel! Fists like granite! Brave defender of our planet! Remember?!"

Kit was beginning to get mad. He was tired of Ernie never listening to him, and always getting him and the others into trouble like this with his refusal to just drop something. He balled up his own fists and growled low.

"You aren't Bullethead, Ernie! Now go home!"

He pointed in what he thought was the direction of the Grapple house. Whether he was right or wrong, he didn't care at the moment. All he knew was that he was pointing away from where the courthouse was, and any direction that took Ernie further away from trouble was a good one.

Ernie for his part actually reeled back as though struck, aghast at what Kit had just said. He then snarled at him, "You--You sound just like my dad!"

"Well maybe that's what you need right now," Kit said. "Someone to talk some sense into. Now I'm telling you, Ernie, GO HOME!"

"I hate you!" Ernie shrieked, sounding like a tantrumy little girl with his high-pitched voice. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I never wanna be friends with you ever again! Any of you!"

With that he turned and ran away down the sidewalk in more or less the direction had pointed. Kit watched him go, stupefied by such an immature reaction. Even for Ernie. For a nanosecond, Kit felt guilty at having made Ernie cry. But then he thought better of it. Ernie needed some tough love right now. Besides, he'd acted out like this before, Kit remembered, and always tended to come around later on, feeling quite foolish at having run away like a two-year-old. But what was most important was that crying or not, Ernie needed to go home to cool off, where the Miniversal thugs wouldn't go. All of them did.

"Come on, you guys, let's go home," Kit said numbly.

"What about Ernie's bike?" asked Humphrey.

"We'll take it with us. I mean, I'll take it home with me. And I'll take it around to his house later."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Herman Grapple was working in his office when he heard the front door slam, making him mistype something on his typewriter. That could be only one person. Rising he went out to remind his son not to slam the door, but upon seeing Ernie's state his mood changed instantly. The boy was in tears and crying nonstop. He barely acknowledged his father as he charged past him.

"Ernest...?" Herman said, dumbfounded.

Ernie went into his room and slammed the door, making his father wince. Herman's anger returned and he went to the door and grabbed the handle. Locked. He pounded on the door with his fist.

"Ernest, open this door! How many times have I told you I don't like locked doors in my house? Or slammed ones?"

The only response was Ernie's continued sobbing, which slowly tapered off into silence. Herman frowned, feeling guilty for having yelled at him like that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his son so upset. What had happened? He almost knocked again but thought better of it. Clearly, Ernie wanted to be alone, and Herman decided he had best respect his wishes rather than make things worse. He'd talk to him about it later. As he returned to his office, he thought, unhappily, that now getting Ernie to come with him to his and Miss Rockefeather's engagement party was going to be impossible.

In his room, Ernie took off his Bullethead gear and flopped onto his bed. He'd stopped crying but his anger hadn't ebbed. He felt silly now for having run off like he did, and because his father had seen him cry. This humiliation only made him angrier. To vent his anger he grabbed Wilson, his teddy bear from when he was much younger that traditionally adorned his nightstand, and punched him across the room. When that failed he proceeded to beat up his pillow.

Eventually, he just lay there hugging the defeated pillow to himself glumly, wondering what he should do. He hated being wrong. He hated being told he was wrong, more than anything else. He'd show that Kit Cloudkicker. That orphan bear who thought he was so much better than him. He'd get their clubhouse back and defeat those Miniversal goons, who were so clumsy they crashed their own car twice. And then Kit would come crawling back to him, begging to be his friend again. They all would.

That made him smile. Yes, he'd show them. He'd prove he wasn't some loser who knuckled under and quit! He began to scheme. And plan...

To Be Continued ... 


	5. How Kit Met Ernie

Kit Cloudkicker grumbled to himself as he rode Ernie's bicycle down the street through Suzette Heights, one of Cape Suzette's more upperclass neighborhoods. It was rather deceptively nestled near the coast not far from where Higher for Hire was, which always struck Kit as odd since usually the ritzier homes were further inland.

After Ernie's tantrum, the Jungle Aces had returned to the courthouse to find Oscar's father again. Not surprisingly, the black sedan and its owners were gone by that time although the place was crawling with police officers interviewing witnesses. The owner of the hot dog stand and the owner of the shop were both quite angry. The shop owner in particular was bemoaning the fact her insurance didn't cover damage by car crash.

Upon finding Judge Vandersnoot they had dutifully returned Oscar to him and he had taken Oscar home to get him his spare glasses. After that the others had gone their separate ways, leaving Kit with Ernie's bicycle which needed returning. It was an expensive bike and would likely be stolen if left sitting outside overnight. So Kit had left his considerably less desirable one chained up and taken Ernie's back.

He had visited Ernie's house only a few times, but remembered where it was well enough. The single story brick home with the dark hedgerows along the driveway. Sure enough there it was nestled just inside a small turnoff. Herman Grapple's large touring car was parked in the driveway, which meant that Herman Grapple was home, at least. Whether his son had made it home on foot was another matter. Although a short bike ride from Higher for Hire, Suzette Heights was a long way from Frank's malt shop.

As Kit stopped the bike at the foot of the drive and got off, and stared past the large luxury car at the small but luxurious house, Kit reflected upon how he had first met Ernest Lloyd Grapple, the son of the lightbulb king of Cape Suzette. It had been only a few months since the Lightning Gun incident and his moving in with Baloo. It had been a rather innocuous meeting. Kit had decided to go exploring and had stumbled across three boys: two his age and a third a little older. One was a hippo, the other an ostrich, and the third, the older one, was a lanky bucktoothed hyena.

They were sitting around on a bench reading comic books and drinking soda pop and for some bizarre reason they were all wearing cooking pots on their heads. Although they looked harmless enough, Kit approached them cautiously and said hello. The hyena regarded him a little coldly and asked what his name was. Kit introduced himself and the hyena had laughed at his surname. His two friends laughed, as well, but, Kit had observed, only after their apparent leader was already doing so. Yes-men, he decide. In hindsight, Kit had no trouble envisioning an adult Ernie as owner of Grapple Electric with the other Jungle Aces as yes-men in bad suits...

Kit had in turn, upon learning the hyena boy's name, commented right back that "Grapple" wasn't a terribly impressive last name, either. At this, Orville and Humphrey had laughed, earning their leader's angry scowl. That had shut them up quickly. Ernie then boasted of his father's importance, and told Kit to get lost. Outnumbered three to one, Kit didn't want trouble, and so he had complied and left them alone.

Their second meeting was more profound. On his way to school one day Kit had suddenly almost been mowed by a terrified-looking Orville and Humphrey. The former upon being seized by the arm and questioned mumbled something about someone named "Linarcos," and had then wrenched free and run after his companion. Heading off in the direction they had fled from, Kit found the hyena boy who had insulted his name being insulted, himself, by an enormous rhino who had to have been close to two years older than both of them.

Quite the opposite from the last time he'd seen him Ernie was whimpering and close to tears as the rhino knocked the cooking pot off his head and called him names Kit would rather not repeat, and smacked him around. Never liking bullies, even ones who preyed upon others of their ilk, Kit had decided to interfere. The rhino, later to be revealed as dropout Jordan Linarcos, had been extorting money from Ernie and had gotten rough when Ernie hadn't given him the usual amount, due to his father cutting his allowance as a result of failing grades. One of the only times Kit could remember Herman Grapple bothering to try and influence his son's upbringing in any way except spoiling him.

Jordan hadn't frightened Kit at all. He had faced the likes of Dumptruck before, and while he was dumb as a bag of hammers, Dumptruck was dangerous when he needed to be, and had almost killed Kit more than once. This idiotic rhino, despite possibly being smarter than Dumptruck by a few IQ points, was nowhere near as big or strong. Kit had stared him down and told him firmly to leave Ernie alone. Throughout, Ernie had cowered behind Kit as though using him for a shield. Ultimately, Jordan, who seemed to recognize someone he couldn't bully into submission, had backed off and walked away.

The relief evident on Ernie Grapple's face at having been rescued was quite amusing. Not that Kit was surprised. What did surprise him was when the hyena composed himself and began boasting about how he could've handled Jordan himself, had Kit not come along, but he offhandedly thanked Kit for his assistance anyway. Ernie was, to put it mildly, a twig. And had he fought back, Jordan would've snapped him like one. But Kit had humored him. And now he regretted it.

Feeding Ernie's ego from the beginning had been a mistake. He should've....well, he was unsure what he should've done. Telling him the truth wouldn't have worked. Ernie would just deny, deny, as he always did, but...well, Kit sometimes wondered what things would've been like if he had told Ernie the naked truth when he was still shaken from Jordan's beating. Maybe then his ego would've taken the bruising it so desperately needed.

At the time, though, Kit found Ernie's boisterous attitude and his seeming obliviousness to the realities of his own physical limitations amusing. And in his own way Ernie was grateful to Kit. Grateful enough that he "let" Kit hang out him and his friends. That was how he had phrased it, so as to save face with Orville and Humphrey. So the four began hanging out after school. They were only casual friends at first because they shared no classes and could only meet before and after and then only briefly.

Then summer came and they started being together more often. Finally Kit had worked up the nerve to ask about "the pots," and Ernie had eagerly explained it meant they were members in what he called the Jungle Aces Secret Midnight Club. Kit was later to learn the pots all came from Herman Grapple's kitchen. When Kit, intrigued by the idea of a club, asked if they had a secret clubhouse, Ernie had replied no. They just met in Humphrey's backyard. Disappointed, Kit had broached the subject of building a clubhouse. A club needing a clubhouse was a notion that had apparently never occurred to Ernie or the other two.

But Ernie had liked the idea. He explained that the club revolved around the idea of its members having exciting adventures and they would let Kit join if he could tell them of an adventure they liked. He'd floored them. Kit was of the opinion that much of Ernie's flippant treatment of him was due to his jealousy that Kit had saved all of Cape Suzette from being plundered by Don Karnage himself. After being given a colander to wear (signifying him as a junior member), Kit had enlisted the assistance of Wildcat in designing and building the Jungle Aces' clubhouse in a tree in a field in an empty lot beside an airplane scrapyard a little ways inland from Higher for Hire.

It was a resounding success. And one Ernie was quick to claim as his own idea to the rabbit, Skip, that the club took on a short time later. A friend of Orville's, Skip's adventure had been that he had saved his mother's purse from being stolen by tripping the would-be thief. Not a particularly rollicking one but an exciting moment to recall nonetheless. And to hear Skip tell it, in tripping the mugger he, too, had somehow saved the entire city.

And so it went. From casual friends to a thriving but small club. And Ernie had arrogantly taken the credit for all of it, even though it had all been Kit's work. But such was Ernie's nature. He was the oldest of the boys and felt entitled to everything from leadership of the club to the idea for building the clubhouse. He had to be first in line for everything. If he wasn't, he threw a fit. And Kit learned very quickly that to tell Ernie Grapple he was wrong about something was to court disaster. Although essentially harmless, Ernie did have a temper and tended to become extremely irate and verbally abusive toward others.

Upon reflection, if Ernie had ended their already rocky friendship sooner Kit probably would've felt better off. He had never even been entirely sure why he had stayed with him as long as he did. Pity? Possibly. Kit knew enough about Ernie's home life to understand why he acted the way he did. A wealthy but inattentive father and a dead mother. Having lost his own parents very early, did he see in Ernie, his total opposite in all other respects, a kindred spirit of some kind?

And if Kit had stuck with Ernie out of some kind of pity what made Ernie keep him around in turn? His other friends, even Oscar to a degree, were ones chosen specifically for their nearly mindless ability to follow rather than lead. All for the purpose, Kit knew, of having followers to look up to him to feed his ego.

Kit was the lone holdout. The one challenger to Ernie's authority. Had Ernie secretly recognized in Kit the potential for a genuine friend, not just a yes-man, only to find his ego just wouldn't allow them to ever become true friends? That was one explanation. And really, the only one that didn't make Ernie look like a complete jerk.

Kit decided that whatever the outcome of his visit, he would tell Ernie how he felt. That he wanted to be his friend but that he would not if the hyena's attitude continued as it had the past couple of years. With renewed determination to set Ernie straight and salvage their friendship, he pushed the bicycle up the driveway, past the touring car and towards the Grapple residence...

To be Continued... 


	6. Father Issues

Setting the bicycle against one of the pillars supporting the covered patio of the Grapple house, Kit rang the doorbell. After a moment the door opened and Herman Grapple appeared, looking mildly flustered. He wasn't wearing his suit coat and his tie was loosened, but by golly, his pince-nez sat firmly upon his snouth despite it all.

"Yes?" he said, eyeing Kit a moment, as though trying to place him. He frowned. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying. Go home."

"Hi, Mr. Grapple," Kit said, putting on his very best smile. "My name's Kit Cloudkicker. I'm a friend of Ernie's. I mean Ernest's."

Herman's frown vanished, but he didn't smile, either. He seemed to chew that over for a moment before saying, "I sort of guessed. You do look like the sort of ruffian my son would hang out with. Erm, no offense."

Ever since the Spruce Moose incident, Herman had been struggling to break his habit of talking down to those beneath him, socially, and had been gradually learning to treat them with increasingly more respect. Trying his best to be friendlier, he opened the door a little wider and invited Kit inside.

"If you've come to see Ernest, you can forget about it," said Herman sadly. "He's locked himself in his room. You wouldn't happen to know why he came home crying, would you?"

Kit shuffled his feet a bit. Well, the truth shall set you free, he thought. That or severely enrage the grown-up. But he decided to risk it.

"We had a fight," he said finally.

"A fight?" Herman repeated, looking a bit perplexed. Well, that explained Ernie's behavior upon returning. "What about...?"

"Nothing really. Well, it means a lot to Ernie--Ernest, but he...oh, how do I put this? He doesn't know when to let go of something?"

Herman sighed. So the fight had been his son's fault. As usual. He nodded, adjusting his pince-nez a bit. "Yes, Ernest is such a stubborn boy. He always wants his way. At the moment he's locked himself in his room."

Kit had figured Ernie would do something like that. And despite himself he almost told Mr. Grapple that out loud. But he caught himself before he could, and instead merely nodded in understanding. That was Ernie's way of doing things. When he lost, or couldn't have his way, he'd squirrel away in his room to cool down. Although Kit had come here to talk to Ernie and deliver his ultimatum, he decided it was best to leave it alone for a little while. If Ernie still hadn't come out, then he was still angry and it was best to wait until the hyena had cooled off.

"Anyway," Kit said, attempting to bring the awkward conversation to as quick of an ending as possible, "I brought his bike back, like I said. So, uh, I guess I'll be goin' now. You have a good night, Mr. Grapple, sir."

He backed up and waved. Herman managed a smile and waved, then slowly shut the door. Once the door was firmly shut, Herman stood in the hallway, feeling his anger at his son returning. He was going to have to start raising Ernest with a firmer hand, if the boy was going to be anything resembling a stepson to Laura Rockefeather!

Turning he went to Ernie's bedroom door and knocked. No answer. He knocked again with the same result and grumbled, only to have the door open slightly on his final, and hardest, knock. It wasn't locked anymore. Strange.

Peeking in, his first thought was that Ernie had gone to sleep and this was why he wasn't answering the door. But seeing the empty bed, Herman frowned and nudged the door open wider. He saw toys and things scattered all over the floor, but no Ernie. More than a bit worried now, he threw the door open fully, checked behind it, looked in the closet, and even got down on his hands and knees to look under the bed.

But there was no sign of Ernie.

Starting to panic, Herman jumped up and began running through the house, calling his son's name with a mixture of fear and anger, although the latter slowly ebbed the longer Herman's calls went unanswered.

"Ernest! Where are you? You come out from wherever it is you're hiding this instant, young man!" he shouted. "Ernest? Listen, Ernest, you're going to come to Miss Rockefeather's party whether you like it or not!"

High and low he searched but turned up nothing. It didn't take very long to search the entire house. Although the Grapple residence was quite expensively furnished, Herman Grapple, eternally the practical thinker, had made certain to purchase a small house, as, at the time, it was just going to be him and Ernie, and he disliked wasted space and servants. If his marriage to Laura Rockefeather went through as planned he was going to sell the house and move to the Rockefeather mansion. His distaste for large houses and a legion of servants was something he had been, and still was, willing to set aside as long as he got to live with his darling Laura.

But at the moment, Herman Grapple wasn't thinking about any of that. Well, he was thinking of Miss Rockefeather in the sense that Ernie's continued absence was going to disrupt the engagement party she planned to throw tomorrow. But this was gradually being replaced by a different kind of worry. Concern for the safety his only son. His darling Ernie. When everything was okay he barely paid the boy any attention, but now that Ernie was gone Herman couldn't find him soon enough.

Standing in the middle of the house, distraught, he tried to calm himself down. Why was he getting so worked up? It wasn't as if Ernie had been kidnapped! He'd just slipped out to go be somewhere alone. All he had to do was wait and the boy would return shortly. But as his concern for his son's safety was satisfied, Herman's other priorities re-emerged and he thought of Miss Rockefeather's party. What if Ernie didn't come home in time to get ready for it?

Then and there, Herman decided to go and search for him. Throwing his coat on and fixing his tie he left and got into his large, expensive touring car, and started it up. Driving off, he noted that it was getting close to sunset so he turned the headlights on. Up ahead, he spotted Kit Cloudkicker walking on the sidewalk.

Pulling the car up alongside him he leaned out the window. "Kit?" he called.

Kit turned and blinked, uncertain of how to react upon seeing Herman Grapple there. "Uh, yes sir?" he asked tentatively.

"I can't find Ernest," Herman said. "He's not in his room and I've searched the whole house. I'm worried he's trying to avoid my engagement party tomorrow. Do you know where he usually, uh, what's the term...'hangs out?'"

Kit frowned. He knew that Ernie hadn't left the house to avoid something as mundane as his father's engagement. There was only one place Ernie would go.

"I know where he is," Kit said softly.

To Be Continued ... 


	7. The Loss

(Things take a pretty violent turn here, fair warning.)

Ernie slowly peeked over the top of the fence that separated the empty lot from the airplane junkyard. The sun was beginning to set as he watched an angry-looking tiger in a suit and hardhat supervising the construction workers from before in erecting some kind of scaffolding and other assorted machinery that the young hyena boy couldn't recognize. Beside the tiger was a gray panther in glasses and a lab coat. He too wore a hardhat.

After some deliberating Ernie decided that the device must be something to dig for oil, although he'd figured that was what the shovel loader was for. But he cared not for the intricacies of oil excavation. He wanted his clubhouse back!

And thank goodness, the tree and clubhouse still stood although the bulldozer was poised to knock it down at a moment's notice. No one was sitting in it, however. Ernie silently cursed himself for losing his temper earlier; he could really use Kit and the guys right now. They'd provide an excellent distraction to keep the workers busy while he used the bulldozer to knock down the oil-drilling contraption.

"Haven't you got that thing set up yet?" roared the tiger.

"We're working as fast as we can, Mr. Sultan," replied the work foreman.

This didn't seem to please Mr. Sultan in the least, and he raised his hand as if to cuff the foreman, who cringed, but then he lowered his arm and simply snarled, "It's getting dark, you remember what the contract says! We lose the rights to drill here at the stroke of midnight!" Here he paused and turned to the panther scientist. "Remind me to fire my lawyer. Only an idiot would sign a contract like that."

"Yes, Mr. Sultan," the scientist replied incertainly. "If I may remind you, sir, we aren't even sure the oil here is at all viable. I haven't even seen it yet."

"Well that's what the digger is for," Sultan said. He jerked his thumb at the excavator. Then, turning he addressed the foreman. "Saunders, get in that thing and dig Dr. Prendick up a sample for analysis."

"Right away, Mr. Sultan!" the foreman, Saunders, said, rushing towards the digging machine.

He climbed in and the thing roared to life. It swung round on its central axis and the metal shovel at the end of the jointed "arm" attached to the front dug down, ripping up huge chunks of earth and grass. Ernie winced. Although his main concern was the clubhouse, he didn't like the idea of a big, oil-filled pit in the middle of the lot. He gripped the fence tighter, feeling his anger boiling over again.

At this point, there came a loud clanking, sputtering, coughing sound and everyone turned as an utterly battered beyond repair black sedan swung into the lot and grinded to a halt near the Miniversal group. Behind the wheel was an angry-looking Lucas; Gobler, sans his glasses, sat vacant-eyed in the passenger seat. They exited the ruined vehicle, Gobler a little slower and more clumsily than Lucas, and approached Sultan's little group by the drilling machine although Gobler had to hold Lucas' shoulder and be guided along.

"What in the blazes happened to you?" Sultan demanded.

"Those blasted kids!" Lucas fumed. He hurriedly explained how they had crashed due to the mixup in the eyeglasses.

Sultan palmed his face in frustration. "You idiot! I give you one simple task, bring me a couple of snot-nosed little brats, and you muck that up! Now we'll never know who this Bullethead clown is!"

"Bullethead?" said one of the workers operating the drill. "I think he's a comic book character."

"What?" asked Lucas as he and Sultan turned towards them.

"Yes," the worker said, smiling good-naturedly. "My kids love those comics."

Sultan shook with barely-contained fury. Suddenly, a rock came flying and clunked off his hardhat, making him jump. "Ow!" he yelped, and they turned and saw Ernie standing by the fence, a collected pile of rocks at his feet. He reached down and grabbed another one and flung it at the Miniversal group again, but missed. It clanged noisily off the drill's scaffolding.

"Beat it, you creeps!" he yelled, hopping up and down in a frankly unimpressive and altogether downright amusing display of a child's fury. "I got lots of rocks here!"

"Who the heck is that?" blinked Sultan.

"It's that rotten kid again!" Lucas bellowed. "Get 'im!"

The workers started but Sultan grabbed two of them by their collars. "Not you two! You need to get this contraption working! The rest of you....get that boy!"

Lucas and three construction workers came racing at him. Gobler for his part ran in the wrong direction, tripped blindly, and sprawled in the dirt with an "Oof!" Sultan ignored him.

"Uh-oh," Ernie gulped, and grabbed handfuls of rocks which he began flinging at the onrushing adults.

Lucas and the workers yelped and cried out in pain as they were pelted with rocks, but nonetheless kept coming. He was running out of rocks and they were getting closer. Realizing he needed a new plan, Ernie decided to flee, and sprinted off just as the four grown-ups reached the fence. One of the workers collided with it and flipped over it, into the junkyard, with a loud metallic crash. The other two workers turned and ran after Ernie. Lucas for his part was a slow last, unused to this much running.

Whilst the others were busy with the oil machine, Sultan heard the sound of another approaching car engine and whirled around, not expecting anyone else, and was surprised to see a large, expensive touring car swing into the lot and stop. From it got a middle-aged hyena wearing a pince-nez and a small bear child in a patchwork sweater and baseball cap. He immediately strode up to the hyena and began arguing with him.

"Where's my son, Ernest?" demanded Herman.

"Ernest?" Sultan repeated. He realized Herman must mean the hyena boy who had pelted his men with rocks. He turned and pointed. "My boys are running him down at the moment. He threw rocks at us!" He crossed his arms indignantly. "He'll be returned to you presently, just as soon as those numbskulls get their hands on him."

Kit gasped as he saw the three enormous men chasing Ernie. Although nimble on his feet, the skinny hyena didn't stand a chance if those guys caught him. And having recognized Robert Sultan from an earlier encounter, Kit knew that the portly tiger wasn't the most scrupulous man in Cape Suzette, and that his assurances of Ernie's safety were to be taken with a whole saltshaker. Frowning in determination, he shoved past Sultan and ran to assist his friend.

"Hey, come back here!" Sultan yelled.

"Kit!" cried Herman, hands to his cheeks.

Kit ignored them. Ernie meanwhile was certainly giving the Miniversal goons a run for their money, leading them in an impromtu game of ring-around-the-rosey as they chased him 'round the tree. However he was beginning to tire just as they were getting their second wind. All save Lucas who all but collapsed from exhaustion against the side of the bulldozer. As he came around the tree Ernie clambered over the vehicle, stepped on Lucas' head, and propelled himself off the lion's head and landed in the grass.

Even as Lucas was recovering from the dizziness, Ernie was on his feet again and running. Recovering, Lucas growled in rage and looked around, then his eyes settled on the shovel loader and he trotted towards it. Saunders was still sitting in it although he was watching the chase, not operating the vehicle. He was suddenly seized by Lucas and pulled bodily from the cab and flung to the ground even as the lion climbed in.

One of the workers climbed over the bulldozer and ran after him; the second went around and encountered Kit who headbutted him in the stomach so hard that even as the bigger worker doubled over in pain Kit himself staggered back a bit dizzily. Gathering his wits he watched as the worker teetered and fell, then ran off in the direction Ernie and the other one had gone.

Ernie was panting and his side ached. He was beginning to regret having attempted to take these guys on, even as the worker seized him by the shirt collar. He yelped. But then Kit crashed into the worker from behind and they all fell down. Sitting up Ernie smiled seeing the bear sitting on the unconscious Miniversal worker, giving him a thumbs-up, which Ernie returned happily. The Jungle Aces always won!

That's when the shadow fell over them. Whirling and looking up they beheld the gigantic excavator, with Lucas in the cab, grinning widely. The enormous digging vehicle was rolling towards them on its treads.

"Run!" Kit yelled, getting off the worker.

He bolted for the safety of the tree, Ernie at his heels. Ernie was positively bug-eyed with terror as he watched the gigantic shovel swing down at him. It was a double scoop with hinged, serrated "jaws," looking like a long-necked dinosaur intent on devouring them. The shovel slammed into the earth directly behind Ernie, who was flung forward, smacking into Kit, knocking both down, with the hyena on top of the bear.

Watching from afar, Herman Grapple and Mr. Sultan were aghast. "Lucas!" yelled Sultan. "What are you doing?! Are you nuts?! Stop that this instant!"

Herman was more proactive. "Ernest!" he cried and ran forwards, despite Sultan's attempt to stop him.

Lucas laughed insanely and worked the levers like a madman. Ernie, opening his eyes, suddenly found himself being lifted off of Kit. No, not just lifted. But jerked upwards into the air, hard. He screamed piercingly in pain as he realized the shovel was clamped around his tail! He was dangling in midair by his tail! Kit looked up in horror and scrambled to his feet even as he heard Herman Grapple's anguished cry of "NO!" and tried to grab Ernie's arms but the hyena was lifted out of reach.

Ernie kicked and struggled and swung back and forth like a pendulum, pain shooting through his body, the machine turning and flinging him. He went flying with a soft popping sound and sailed through the air. Herman, running up, gasped as he saw his airborne son sailing towards him and stuck out his arms. Ernie landed in them and although they were both knocked to the ground, Herman still ended up with his son in his arms.

"Ernest!" he cried, kissing his son happily. "You're all right! You're--" He stopped as he realized something was horribly wrong.

"Dad, I can't feel my tail..." Ernie mumbled, seemingly half-conscious.

They both looked at the boy's backside. There was no sign of his tail. Just the hole in the back of his overalls for it to go through and a bit of blood. Slowly, they looked up. There was the tail still hanging gripped in the excavator's shovel. It had ripped loose when the machine swung Ernie around, and the popping sound had been the bones dislocating.

Kit's rage boiled over. Without even knowing what he was doing he climbed into the bulldozer. He threw it into reverse and the vehicle went backwards, towards the oil drilling machine. Sultan, Prendick, Gobler and the other workers scattered as the bulldozer smashed into the machine, crumpling it and toppling it before grinding to a halt.

"Nooooooo!" shrieked Sultan in dismay.

"Oh, Ernie," whispered Herman. He found his rage over what had been done to his sone overwhelming his surprise at calling his son "Ernie" for the first time in ages, and, gently, laid the prone boy on the ground and stood.

He strode purposefully towards the digger where Lucas still sat in the cab. Lucas blinked, surprised as he watched the hyena walk up and climb up onto the tread. Then before he knew it, blood was gushing from his broken nose, courtesy of Herman Grapple's fist. The lion reeled and collapsed panting over the controls of the machine. That accomplished, Herman climbed back down and returned to his son's side, scooping him up.

"Cloudkicker, are you coming...?" he said sternly.

"Yes sir," Kit said, choking back tears. He climbed down from the bulldozer.

"You haven't heard the last of this," Herman snarled at Sultan as they went back to his car.

He put Ernie in the backseat, and Kit climbed in to sit with his injured friend as Herman got behind the wheel and sped them towards the hospital. 


	8. The Gain

A few hours later, Herman Grapple paced nervously in the waiting room at the city hospital. The bespectacled hyena was holding a teddy bear of all things, which he had retrieved from home. Kit recognized it as Ernie's toy teddy bear, "Wilson."

Miss Rockefeather had come by not long after they arrived, out of concern for her future stepson. Kit sat beside her in one of the seats, knees drawn up to his chest.

"Stop pacing, Herman, dear," said Miss Rockefeather, "you're going to wear holes in your shoes. Not to mention the floor."

Herman shot her a look. "I'll calm down when I receive some news about Ernest!"

"I'm sure he's okay, Mr. Grapple," Kit offered hopefully.

The door opened and they turned, expecting to see the doctor only for a short hound in a trenchcoat and fedora to enter, followed by a uniformed alligator officer. "All right, which one of you is Grapple?" asked the hound.

"I am," said Herman.

"Detective Thursday!" cried Kit with a small smile.

Thursday blinked and smiled back. "Kit, uh, Cloudkicker, right?" Kit nodded. "Funny how we keep running into one another like this. Anyway." He turned serious again and turned to Herman Grapple. "Mr. Grapple, my name is--"

"I heard what your name is, you dolt, I--" he began, but stopped himself, looking sheepish as Miss Rockefeather glared at him for his rudeness. "I'm sorry, Detective Thursday. It's just that I, well..."

"Easy enough to understand, Mr. Grapple," Thursday said sympathetically. He took out a notepad and pencil. "Now then. As I understand it, this was an accident involving--"

"It was no accident!" Kit growled, jumping out of his chair. "That lunatic from the black sedan ripped Ernie's tail off with a steam shovel!"

Thursday frowned. "Not an accident. And, wait, what black sedan?"

"The one that had been following me and Ernie all day," Kit clarified.

"Why am I just now learning about this?" Herman demanded to know.

Kit sighed and decided it was confession time, so he filled Herman, Mrs. Rockefeather and Detective Thursday in on everything that had happened over the past twenty-four hours. How Miniversal had bought the property where the Jungle Aces' clubhouse was, about Ernie's singleminded determination to get it back, about the men in the black car, the visit to Oscar's father, everything.

Thursday hastily jotted all of the relevant information down on his little pad. "Miniversal, huh? Khan's been after us to arrest those bozos for industrial espionage for a while now, but we haven't been able to pin anything on Sultan. This might just be the break we need. Kit, do you think you'd recognize them again if you saw them?"

Kit was about to say yes when Herman Grapple exploded, pince-nez flying off, dangling from his suit lapel by its string. "Who cares about industrial espionage?! My son had his tail torn off with a steam shovel scoop!"

They all winced, and Miss Rockefeather put a calming, feathered hand upon her fiance's shoudler. He wilted, shoulders sagging, and stared at the floor and said said nothing.

"I understand your anger, Mr. Grapple," said Thursday, pocketing the pad and pencil. "And don't you worry. If you think a little case of industrial espionage is going to take precedent over the maiming of a child with me, you're sorely mistaken. I'm gonna see to it that the joker who did this to your son is gonna go away for a long, long time."

Herman nodded weakly, putting his glasses back on and adjusting them carefully. "Thank you, Detective. Sorry, again."

"Think nothing of it. O'Dile?" he said, turning to the alligator policeman. "Let's go. I wanna talk to Five-Spit Freddy and see if we can't lean on Sultan a little." They headed for the door. Over his shoulder, Thursday said, "We'll be back later, Mr. Grapple. With good news, hopefully."

As they walked out, a gerbil doctor in a lab coat walked in brushing past them. "Which one of you is the father?" he asked. Then upon realizing Herman was the only adult male in the waiting room, frowned and addressed him directly without waiting for a reply. "Mr. Grapple, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is your son will survive, and is in very good, stable condition."

"And, the...bad news?" Kit asked hesitantly.

The doctor waited a moment before replying. "We...can't reattach his tail."

"Oh, God," Herman moaned, feeling weak in the knees. Again Miss Rockefeather comforted him and supported him so that he didn't collapse on the spot.

"I'm sorry, but the bone and muscles were just too badly mangled. I'm afraid that at the moment it appears as if Ernest is going to have to live the rest of his life without a tail." The doctor swallowed, clearly disliking having to deliver such awful news.

After a moment, Herman looked up. "May I see him?"

The doctor nodded. "Of course, right this way," he replied, gesturing. Kit and Miss Rockefeather started to follow but the doctor held them back gently. "Sorry but only immediate family are allowed. You'll have to wait here."

Miss Rockefeather hmmphed indignantly, but went and say down with a sigh, as did Kit. The bear cub fought back tears. This was horrible. Even someone as obnoxious as Ernie Grapple didn't deserve to have their tail ripped off. He hoped Detective Thursday locked those Miniversal goons away forever and threw away the key.

Meanwhile, the doctor led Herman through the wing to the post-op recovery ward and showed him into a small observation room where Ernie was lying in a bed, covers pulled up to his chin, breathing slowly. Hesitantly, Herman approached the bed as the doctor hovered discretely in the doorway.

"Ernest?" Herman said softly, reaching out and stroking through his son's headfur.

Slowly the young hyena's eyes opened. "Mm," he mumbled groggily. "H--Hi, Dad," he said. He managed a weak smile. "Sorry I caused all this trouble. I...I just wanted to save the clubhouse."

"It's okay, son," Herman whispered reassuringly. "It isn't your fault. You should sleep now. Here, look who I brought." He smiled and held up Wilson the bear.

"Wilson!" Ernie smiled, and wriggled his arms out from under the covers to grab the stuffed bear and hug it close to himself. "Thanks, Dad," he said.

Again Herman stroked through the short orange fur on top of the boy's head. "The doctor says you're going to be fine, but...well," he trailed off, and, deciding the bad news about his tail could wait until Ernie had rested and was feeling better, dropped the matter. "You rest now, okay, Ernest? You need some sleep. Please sleep, for me, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," Ernie said.

The doctor entered and adjusted Ernie's IV drip carefully. Slowly Ernie's eyes closed and within moments the hyena was sound asleep clutching Wilson.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks later, Ernie, fully recovered, tailless and once again fidgeting nervously in a business suit, stood beside his father near the altar at the church. A lot had happened in the previous three weeks. For one thing, Robert Sultan and Miniversal were facing a multitude of lawsuits for industrial espionage and damages against the Grapple family.

Thanks to Five-Spot Freddy's cooperation, Detective Thursday learned the whole story of the "Bullethead" misunderstanding which had started the whole tragedy. In this manner, Thursday had arrested Sultan's assistant Lucas for attempted murder and numerous counts of assault. The trial was scheduled for the following week.

Despite the loss of his tail, Ernie was in high spirits. Not only because his father was so happy on the day of his marriage, but also because, with the help of Judge Vandersnoot and the vast Rockefeather fortune, Herman Grapple had been able to buy back the Jungle Aces' lot from Miniversal.

Not that Sultan had cared much. Dr. Prendick's analysis of the "oil" revealed it to be a washout, and furthermore Miniversal was too preoccupied with legal fees to worry about some empty lot in an airplane junkyard. Thus, the Jungle Aces got their clubhouse back.

In the pews sat all of Ernie's friends. Kit, Baloo, Rebecca, Molly, Oscar, Oscar's parents, and Orville, Skip and Humphrey and their parents. The remainder of the audience consisted of Herman and Miss Rockefeather's plethora of rich friends. Even Baloo's old friend, Shere Khan's personal inventor Buzz, was there, his tux's bowtie crooked as always.

Khan himself had been invited but had politely turned down the invitation. However, he had sent the happy couple a nice card and cake, via his secretary. Aside from him, the wealthy and elite of Cape Suzette filled the church to overflowing that day. Crowded into the back were several reporters and photographers. The late John D. Rockefeather's widow's remarriage, to the light bulb king of Cape Suzette, was, as they say, news.

Currently, Miss Rockefeather stood beside Herman before a cheerful-looking young minister holding a Bible. The rings had already been exchanged, and now the couple were holding hands.

"She's a bit old for 'im, ain't she?" Baloo whispered as an aside to Rebecca, his hair gelled and wearing his elastic cumberbund, a Godsend if there ever was one.

Rebecca, in a nice evening gown with her hair gracefully let down for the occasion, frowned and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ow!" he yelped. A few of the guests turned and looked at him, and he smiled sheepishly and sat a little lower in his seat.

"Do you, Herman Davis Grapple, take Laura Spelman Rockefeather to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" the minister asked.

"I do," Herman said, smiling as if he felt twenty again.

The minister now addressed Miss Rockefeather, soon to be Mrs. Grapple, and said, "And do you, Lady Laura Spelman Rockefeather, take this man, Herman Davis Grapple, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do," she replied.

The minister grinned and slowly closed his Bible. "Than by the power vested in me by the city of Cape Suzette, and in he eyes of our lord God, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Mrs. Rockefeather-Grapple grabbed her new husband and swooped him off his feet, planting her beak to the hyena's lips, kissing him deeply. The minister chuckled a bit uneasily, Ernie stifled a giggle, and there was applause from the pews as the photographers' flashbulbs went off all at once.

Tomorrow's early edition would be graced with a front-page photo of Herman Grapple in the arms of his new bridge, a shocked expression on his face as she kissed him. And off to one side would be the junior Grapple, Ernest. The boy who had lost a tail but gained a stepmother, and, by definition, a family.

The End 


End file.
